Chrissy
Franco has every reason to take one hell of a victory lap around the courtroom.
She’s just defended her client to the best of her ability and what’s more? Her
client was actually innocent. Oh, she’d killed her husband, baseball legend
Skip Maguire, alright; but he’d been about to hit a homerun with Miranda’s
head.

His rabid
fan base doesn’t agree with the verdict, and they’ve set their sights on
Chrissy as the one to blame. One of them is about to set into motion a
dangerous game when he publishes poor Chrissy’s address online…

Enter
Tony McCormick, a detective with the right kind of attitude and Chrissy’s sort
of ex-boyfriend. When he’s called to Chrissy’s apartment, he’s prepared for the
worst. He’s a homicide detective after all. When he arrives, it seems that
someone might have forgotten to check to see if Chrissy was still alive… now
it’s everything he can do to find the man who did this and the other behind it
all before it’s really too late.

I finished scribbling the address he’d given me on a legal
pad in front of me saying, “I think this damn city has had enough with the
baseball references, Captain.”

“Yeah, whatever, get your ass over there, this city has had
enough with the homicides lately, too.”

“You ain’t lying; I’m on it.”

I tossed the receiver back onto its cradle with a clatter. I
sat up from where I’d been hunched over my desk and rubbed the back of my neck,
giving myself at least enough time to indulge in a stretch before getting up. I
picked up the pad of paper, my eyes roving over the address as it tickled the
back of my brain.

I knew it, but couldn’t place it. Something about all those
twos and sixes was just niggling at me in the worst way but I figured I’d see
it soon enough. I needed to get over there before the bodies got cold. Before
the medical examiner got any kind of time with them. It helped to see the scene
before anything was touched or moved.

I got up and hauled ass, heading down to the garage and my
assigned cruiser. It was a short drive from the 12th precinct to the
apartment’s address and there was plenty of parking in among the black and
whites with their party lights that were already there. Hell, the coroner’s van
wasn’t even here yet. Just a couple of uniformed units. Lucky me. I double
parked and then it clicked… this was Chrissy’s place. She was a lawyer, a
defense attorney that I’d taken out a couple of times. We were like ships
passing in the night schedule wise, and after the fourth interrupted date, we
had pretty much come to the conclusion that it was nice, but it wasn’t going to
happen.

That’d been over three years ago, pushing four; I’d always
sort of wondered if our paths would cross again. I never imagined it might be
on a homicide call in her building, that is, if she still even lived here. Who
was I kidding? I knew, deep in my gut from the minute I’d pulled up it was the
feisty lawyer’s apartment I was headed to.

“Well you can definitely say there were signs of forced
entry, huh detective?” a uniform, Johns by the nametag on his chest, said as I
stepped carefully over the shattered debris that’d been Chrissy Franco’s
doorframe and lock.

“Jesus Christ,” I muttered taking in the raw scene.

There was a blonde, draped back over the arm of the couch, a
movie-perfect shot through her fuckin’ forehead, right between the eyes. I
walked carefully up to the second body and leaned down over my knees.

“Yeah, that’s Chrissy Franco, alright,” I said, heart heavy
in the center of my chest. Regret weighed me down like a thousand pound boulder
in the center of my chest. She was beautiful, even like this, body cooling on
the floor. If ever there had been one that’d got away, it was Chrissy. I’d
thought about her a lot in the intervening years since I’d last seen her. I’d
even caught myself lingering in the corridors of the courthouse on the
occasions I’d had to be there. Hoping to run into her, hoping to rekindle
things; that she might happen to be single, maybe willing to give it a shot
again… This was a-fucking-shame, and I was gutted that it had to be me to catch
the call.

Damnit.

I pulled on a pair of gloves and went to trace some of her
long dark hair away from the side of her face so I could get a better look at
her when she gasped.

I nearly shot through the fuckin’ roof.

“Call a bus!” I screamed and knelt down amid the broken glass
and spilled wine, the sweet smell of alcohol and coppery tang of blood singeing
my nose even as hope filled me up like a helium goddamn balloon.

“H-he-help me,” she stammered out and I took her hand.

“Ambulance is on the way, just hang on, baby.”

“Tony?”

“Yeah, yeah, you remember me?”

“It hurts!” her tone was mournful, pain filled, and I
deflated a little on the inside, but I wasn’t willing to show it. Confidence,
surety, that’s what she needed right now.

Shit. Both of those things were the last things I was feeling
right now. I wasn’t used to live victims, especially not ones I’d had the
occasional date with. I couldn’t fucking help her except to wait for paramedics
and I hated it. I glared at the uniform who was spewing panicked words into the
mic at his shoulder.

“Didn’t you check to see if she was a-fuckin’-live!?” I
demanded, needing to direct my helpless anger somewhere.

“I mean, who gives a shit, man? I didn’t know! Just look at
her!” he shouted and I swore I was gonna have a quiet conversation with him and
his CO later, whether or not she lived or died. That shit wasn’t right. You
didn’t get to pick the vic. I strapped down my incendiary rage at the comment
and stroked her hand, giving my attention to the wounded woman on the floor,
the person that needed it most.

“Hang on, Chrissy, we’re gonna get you some help.” She
squeezed my hand and I could swear my heart squeezed down with it, a tight ball
of sympathy for her pain.

Nobody deserved this shit. To have someone break down your
door; shoot you up, and for what? I thought about it. About the uproar over the
Maguire case, it was the likeliest conclusion based on what I knew so far…
Because you did your job?

If you enjoy hot, tattooed bikers and the women they love, you'll want this anthology on your reading list. Some of your favorite MC authors have teamed up and now these bad boy bikers are helping to raise money for End Rape On Campus.

A.J. Downey is a born and raised
Seattle, WA Native. She finds inspiration from her surroundings, through the
people she meets and likely as a byproduct of way too much caffeine.

She has lived many places and
done many things though mostly through her own imagination… An avid reader all
of her life it’s now her turn to try and give back a little, entertaining as
she has been entertained.

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Im a 34 yr old single mother that loves to read when I have free time and if you have kids you know that's hard to come by... but I always make room for a Book Boy Friend (BBF)... I can read any thing from Romance, to straight erotica, to paranormal. Just to name a few of my favorite authors: Tiffany Reisz , EL James, Deena Bright, Angelisa Stone, Pepper Winters, Missy Johnson, Scarlett Edwards, CJ Roberts, Gail McHugh, Colleen Hoover, Katy Evans, Lisa Renee Jones and many many more... Reviews are written by myself or my good friends Donna,Caterina and Amanda we all try to write our reviews as honest as possible with out being disrespectful.

So if you have something you thing we absolutely must read send us an email skjean530@gmail.com we'd love to hear from you!!